


Strays

by 5BlackRoses



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Needs a Hug, Depression, Gaslighting, Gen, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecure Clint, Phil Coulson Knows All, Pre-Iron Man 1, Prostitute Clint Barton, Prostitution, Rhodey Is a Good Bro, SHIELD, Self-Hatred, Steve sings in the shower, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Tony has a few PhD's, Tony takes in strays, but also kinda AU, formerly, secret agent man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 19,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7931695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5BlackRoses/pseuds/5BlackRoses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony doesn't actively try to take in strays, but somehow it just keeps happening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Sir, I'm afraid my protocols are being overwritten.”

“J, you and I both know that the security update from last time would keep this from happening if you weren't actively letting people in,” Tony said, turning back to the holographic projections before him.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Before Tony could call his AI on the bullshit, the door slid open and the inventor turned to face whoever J.A.R.V.I.S. had decided to let in, quickly hiding the holograms with a wave of his hand.

“Agent.”

“Dr. Stark.”

Tony sighed, stepping back to let the other man in. Even if he hadn't been a genius, he was smart enough to know that Agent Phil Coulson wouldn't leave until his business had been thoroughly completed.

As the door slid closed, Tony noticed the wide-eyed man following Phil. The guy was trying hard to hide it, but he was trembling and had shrunk in on himself more than should be possible. While Phil looked crisp as ever, his shadow was unkempt to say the least; Tony could think of quite a few additional adjectives, but kept his mouth shut for a change.

“Another one, Phil? You're giving me another one?”

“I wouldn't be doing this if I had a better option, Tony.”

The engineer noted the particular wording, specifically the reference to other options existing. He filed the tidbit away for further analysis before responding. “The first one was a favor,” he began.

“A favor that you are quite fond of, as I recall,” Phil interrupted, “I believe your words were 'lovable green ball of rage,' followed by an exclamation of joy.”

“Joy is relative, Agent, and also not a word that has ever been used in a description of me,” Tony replied, “besides, Rhodey is coming to stay with me during his leave, I don't want him being driven off by the strays you keep finding by the side the road.”

“Colonel Rhodes has been informed and still desires to reside here during his leave.”

“You talked to him behind my back?”

“I sent you an email and left a voicemail,” Phil replied cheerfully.

“J?”

“Sir, Agent Coulson is referencing the email you received at 12:34 PM yesterday, and the voicemail recorded at 3:30 PM this afternoon. You were informed of both,” the AI confirmed.

“Traitor,” Tony muttered affectionately, turning towards the agent, “I'm blaming you if Rhodey moves out because the last one you brought sings the national anthem and God Bless America in the shower. If you can call that singing...”

Phil smiled, he would never admit it to Tony himself, but the philanthropic engineer and his eccentricities held a special place in the agent's not-quite-frozen-solid heart. “This is Clint Barton,” he said, putting one hand on the trembling man's shoulder, “Mr. Barton, this is Dr. Tony Stark, you will be living with him for a while.”

Before Tony or Clint could say anything, Phil had disappeared in his signature, Phil Coulson: Secret Agent Man Extraordinaire manner. That left the inventor observing the man before him who was far more physically damaged than anyone the agent had ever brought to Tony before.

Clint was # 5.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's POV

Clint knew he was trembling violently and tried to be still, but to no avail; he was tired and weak and more than a little frightened. 32 hours earlier Agent Coulson had found him passed out and partially naked behind a cheap motel. He couldn't remember why exactly he'd been there or why the agent was there, but it was no longer relevant, so Clint dismissed the gap. Coulson had given him to this Dr. Stark, that was what mattered for the moment.

_This place looks pretty nice. He's probably rich. Maybe he'll give me food._

Clint shut down those thoughts. Stark hadn't said anything to him and seemed to be observing and appraising him like one might a weapon or an instrument. _I haven't earned any food yet_ , Clint reminded himself, _Maybe if I... No wait, he hasn't decided to keep me._

At that moment, Stark spoke, jolting Clint out of his thoughts. “Sugarbun, create a profile for Mr. Barton. Let's put him at level 5 for the moment.”

_Sugarbun... that's an endearment right? He does want to keep me! Was he even talking to me? It didn't feel like it. But there's no one else here... What does level 5 mean? Should I aim for 4 or 6?_

“Already done, Sir,” said a disembodied British voice; the shock made Clint take a step back, looking around for a source.

For the first time since Agent Coulson had left, Clint was addressed directly. “That's Jarvis,” Stark explained, “he's not gonna hurt you unless he feels that I'm under threat of being harmed by you. He doesn't have a body exactly, but you'll get used to it.”

 _So he is going to keep me, right? But the voice... Jarwin? can hurt me. Does that mean there are weapons in the walls? That's kinda cool._ Clint was excited for a moment. _I'm probably not allowed to use them anyway..._ “Yes, Sir,” he muttered, staring at the floor.

“Call me Tony.”

Before Clint could respond, Tony continued talking. “Don't worry. Jarvis is great; genius coding. I should know, I wrote it personally. Anyway, he's awesome.”

“Much appreciated, Sir.”

“You'll probably meet the bots soon. Or maybe not. I'm not giving you workshop access, sorry,” Tony started walking towards another room, “come on, you need a shower. Seriously man, you smell horrible and look worse.”

Clint followed the other man cautiously; his thoughts getting jumbled. _Robots? Awesome! Dr. Stark... Tony... coded the voice. That means he created it; so he's smart. That's not good._ _Smart people are dangerous._ Clint shuffled forward, noticing that he'd left a muddy shoe print on the door mat and more across the wood floors to where he was standing. _Shit! He's gonna be mad. At least wood is easy to clean. But he wants me to shower first... he's already disappointed with me. Come on, Barton, can't you do anything right?_

Apparently Clint had stopped moving as he thought, and Tony was trying to get his attention, but still not touching him. _Smelly, dirty... of course he doesn't want to touch me... or did he mean ugly? Wait... I've done something wrong haven't I? I should have walked faster. But I'm so tired..._

“Whoa there! Where did you go? Can you still walk?”

Clint nodded furiously, not trusting himself to speak.

“Okay... Let's get you cleaned up and then you can sleep or whatever. I need to get back to work.”

Tony led Clint down the hall, stopping at a simple yet elegant bathroom. _So no food... but still: hot water!_ Clint thought excitedly. _Or not. Haven't earned that yet_... he reminded himself, following Tony into the room and letting himself be seated on the toilet lid.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be aware that Clint has a twisted conception of reality. This is not an evil!Tony fic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Clint's POV

It became abundantly clear that Clint would be taking a bath rather than a shower, when he almost took a nosedive into the tub. Tony gently pushed the other man back on to the toilet lid, “stay,” he commanded.

Some hazy part of Clint's mind registered the blood that was getting smeared across the porcelain, but he knew it was best to stay focused on the man in charge, in this case, Tony. The engineer was talking, and it took a minute for Clint to focus on his lips and voice enough to understand what was being said. “You! Dummy! Get over here!” were the first words that he actually understood.

_Shit! I messed up again. Jesus Barton, how many times can you screw up in less than an hour? He's right, you're a fucking dumb-ass._

Doing his best to rise and follow the order, Clint nearly collapsed again. “What did I say about? Did I say get up and move? Because that's what you did. Now, you could be deliberately trying to get on my nerves, but I doubt it. So that begs the question, why did you get up? I really don't think I told you to do that. In fact, I said the exact opposite,” Tony rambled.

Clint's head hurt, as did the rest of his body, so he only caught about half of what Tony had said though it was enough to reach a reasonable understanding. _He's gonna punish me now. I don't want that... please, not now. But I deserve it. Suck it up, Barton, you did this to yourself!_

At that moment, two robots rolled through the door way. They both had claw type contraptions, and one had a camera on it. That one seemed more advanced than the other, and had brought extra towels from some indeterminate location. The less advanced of the two clutched a fire-extinguisher-like object.

“This is U,” Tony indicated the camera enabled bot, “and here with his fire-extinguisher, is Dum-E.”

_Robots. He was talking to the robots not me. Why would he name robots those things? That's none of my business. But maybe he isn't mad... no I still screwed up..._

“Butterfingers is in my workshop hanging out at the charging station. You probably won't meet her, she typically stays in the labs,” Tony interrupted Clint's thoughts.

Turning to the robots, “Dum-E, why do you do this to me?” the inventor asked the bot who had just knocked over a pile of towels with his fire extinguisher, “do you want to be donated to a city college?”

Dum-E made a sad whine, rolling backwards. “There are muddy footprints by the door. Fix it,” Tony told him.

_The footprints! How did I forget? So fucking stupid..._

The less advanced bot rolled away as U reached out to turn on the faucet that would fill the tub. Clint's gaze moved back and forth from Tony to U repeatedly until the inventor spoke up. “Bath,” he pointed as though it was obvious which to him it probably was, “for you. Right now. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” Clint replied immediately before correcting himself, “I mean, Tony.”

After taking a washcloth and draping it over U's camera, Tony left, closing the bathroom door behind him. Hesitantly, Clint began to strip out of what remained of his clothing, and prepared for the head rush that standing up would likely bring.

* * *

The bath turned out to be a less painful experience than Clint had expected, but that wasn't saying much. The water was neither boiling or freezing, rather it somehow maintained a pleasantly warm temperature. At the same time, it forced him to become aware of the cuts, scrapes, and bruises all over his body.

A few seconds after Clint got in, submerging most of his body, the suddenly reddish brown colored water was flushed down the drain and replaced. _'Course he doesn't want to touch... or see. I'm disgusting._ U provided bath products, soap, and wash clothes, all of higher quality than Clint had ever experienced in his life, and for that reason, he was reluctant to use them. _Don't deserve this shit. Haven't earned it. Maybe I'll have to earn it later..._

Upon trying to clean the blood off his scalp, Clint realized that he could barely lift his arms without screaming in pain. U made a sympathetic whirring sound, reaching towards his hair as if to give a massage or deliver a volt or 2 of electricity.

Clint flinched back, and in doing so, hit an already forming bruise on the faucet, turning it into a cut. As the blood began to flow, he heard the automated voice from the ceiling talking to him.

“I have called Sir to aid in your care as he possess the human reach and precision that U does not,” JARVIS told him.

At that moment, the door opened. “What is it this time?” Tony asked, annoyed.

_He can see me. That's not good. And he's mad... failure. You annoyed him, Barton, how can you expect to earn food now?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, there is no evil!Tony


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV and more of Clint's

Tony left Clint with U and sent Dum-E to clean up the muddy footprints, hoping that he was making the right choice. The injured and shaking man didn't seem to be too keen on being touched, and Tony wasn't really in the mood to be patient and gentle; Phil had dropped off a different stray about a month earlier, who, among other annoying habits, sang patriotic songs in the shower and insisted that the inventor eat and sleep with decent regularity. For those reasons, Tony hadn't had the time to do his own work much, especially with the other charges from Phil that needed caring for.

Director Nick Fury, Agent Coulson's boss, was asking, no, demanding a consult on something or other, and Tony also had duties to his company, Stark Industries/Technologies. Stray #1 was mostly functional, but was still living with the engineer and requiring assistance and advice. Strays #2 and #3 weren't currently living there, but weekly video chats to check in and whatnot were a necessity. Stray #4 alternated between two modes: annoying mother-hen and insecure loner. Suffice it to say, Tony was a busy man.

The first interruption was JARVIS informing the genius that U was concerned about he amount of blood coming from the newest stray. As it turned out, the AI knew that all was well, at least for the situation at hand, but decided to inform Tony anyway.

Next, Dum-E dropped the dirty towels at Tony's feet and proceeded to his charging station, which reminded JARVIS of the inventor's physical need to eat. Then there was another unnecessary complaint/worry from U, followed by another 5 minutes later.

By the time JARVIS informed Tony that his presence was absolutely needed in the bathroom, there had been 7 interruptions, and very little work had gotten done. 

* * *

 

Reluctantly, the engineer waved away the holographic blueprints and headed down the hall towards the bathroom. “What is is this time?” he asked U, opening the door.

The bot whirred quietly, pointing towards Clint who was trying to pull himself as far from the door as the tub would allow. No closer inspection was needed for Tony to discover the blood gushing from Clint's back and the part of the faucet that had caused the damage.

“I see...” he muttered, before directing his gaze to Clint's eyes, “I'll take care of it, and then we'll get that shit out of your hair and you can sleep.

“That is what normal people do, right?” Tony spoke to U as he pressed a washcloth against his subject's back, “sleep for 7-8 of every 24 hours.”

“Honestly, it seems like a waste of time. There are so many things one could do with those hours. Think of the productivity,” the inventor continued, as he scrubbed and massaged the dirt and blood from Clint's scalp, “U, go get some clothes for Mr. Barton here.”

Helping the injured man out of the tub, Tony made a note to leave an extra large check for the cleaning person who would have to deal with the red and brown stains left behind. When he was living alone, he hadn't hired anyone to do the cleaning, he'd done it himself, a useful skill the genius had learned by sharing a room with James Rhodes at MIT. However, 3-5 times the people created 3-5 times the mess, and Tony just didn't have time.

Sitting Clint back on the toilet seat, Tony began tending to the man's more serious injuries. The bruises and smaller cuts could be ignored, but there were several larger lacerations that would require stitches. “Dum-E,” Tony called, “get the suture kit!”

Neither man was happy about the situation, Tony having no desire to use sharp objects on someone who was so afraid of him, and Clint having no desire to be near any of said sharp objects. Still, they both knew it was necessary, and they had an unspoken agreement that there would be no ER visits. 

* * *

 

When Dum-E returned with the supplies, Clint could no longer control the trembling. He was butt naked in front of Tony and though he was significantly cleaner than before, he was still battered, bruised, and bleeding. _I'm such a mess... no wonder Agent Coulson gave me away so quickly..._

Tony opened the kit and pulled out a vaseline-looking paste as well as two thin glass tubes and a needle. _Shit. He's gonna drug me. No, no, no, no, no..._

“Please, Sir,” Clint stuttered, “I can take it. Don't need any drugs.”

“Barton, it's just anesthetic. Relax.”

“Please...”

“I don't want to hurt you, but you need stitches,” as he spoke, Tony prepared to begin suturing without any anesthetic, “can I as lest use this?” he motioned to the vaseline-like substance.

“I can't take it, I promise.” _Please no drugs... please..._

“It's just topical anesthetic. Like what a dentist might use before Novocaine.”

The mention of dentistry did not go over well, and soon Tony was stitching Clint up, wincing every time he pierced the other man's skin. To his credit, his hands remained still and the needle steady. _He's good at this... why is he so good at this?_ _ **Doctor**_ _Stark... but I thought that was about a PhD... he doesn't look like a doctor._

Clint kept silent the whole time, following the inventor's instructions without a word. He turned when he was supposed to, held everything where it needed to be, and stayed as still as possible so that he wouldn't cause any issues. _Let this be over soon... make this end..._

The most significant issue came after all serious cuts had been sutured and bandaged, and Tony tried to examine everything else a final time before giving Clint clothes and sending him to bed. Taking sterilized wipes, the inventor cleaned the welts that didn't fit into the categories of cuts or bruises. Then he had Clint bend over the sink counter so he could clean what he knew he would find.

 _So that's what he wants... okay, I can work with that,_ Clint thought to himself as he stared down into the sink and tried not to shake, _now it makes sense._

It stopped making sense when Tony removed his hands and gave Clint clothing. When he was dressed, the inventor led him to a nice bedroom, “you're lucky I was already prepared for Rhodey so that we didn't have to make up another bed for you,” Tony commented, not really addressing Clint or anyone else.

 _Lucky,_ Clint thought, _yes. That sounds right. No food, but I get to sleep in a real bed even if it's just till this Rhodey comes._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning

6:30 AM the next morning found Tony welding in his workshop, blasting his ears with AC/DC as per usual; he wasn't big on sleeping. Stray #1 had taken off several days earlier to some 3rd world country to help with relief efforts, and Stray #4 was on his usual morning run, that would inevitably be followed by a patriotic serenade in the shower.

Stray #5, Tony imagined, would still be asleep. The guy had been really beat up when Agent brought him in, and the inventor himself would have slept in had he been in such a condition. Apparently, Clint was an early riser, because JARVIS informed Tony at 6:45, that the man had been in the kitchen for 10 minutes, seemingly arguing with himself.

“He's talking to himself?”

“No, but he has made several attempts at the fridge and more at the cabinets, but never succeeded in opening them or procuring sustenance, Sir,” the AI responded.

“Problem with his fingers? His arms? Did Steve put weights on everything again?”

“None of the above, I'm afraid. It appears to be an issue of confidence.”

“You couldn't have just said that?”

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Sir.”

Tony smiled, not meaning his words, “Next time, try 'he doesn't know if he's allowed to eat the food in the kitchen' or something, Jay.”

Putting down his current project, Tony changed his shirt and headed for the stairs. He may have rebelled against most of his parents' teachings about manners and appearance, but the not-smelling-bad part had stuck.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he called, entering the kitchen. 

* * *

 

Clint froze upon hearing Tony's voice, his hand poised to open the pantry. A second later, he was perched on the counter in the farthest corner from the door by which the engineer had entered. _He's mad. I should have asked first! Jeez, why am I so stupid?_

“Don't panic,” Tony soothed, approaching slowly, I'm not upset with you.”

The beating of Clint's heart slowed a bit, but he didn't move from his perch. _I'm not supposed to be up here, am I? Bare feet on the counter... I think that's against everyone's rules. But he said he's not mad... doesn't mean anything. Smart people are crafty._

“It's okay. I'm sorry I forgot to feed you last night. How about you come down from there and we can both eat,” Tony glanced at the time JARVIS projected on the wall, “breakfast.”

It took a bit more coaxing to get Clint into a chair at the table, but Tony managed. Starting a pot of coffee, and messing around a bit with the toaster he turned, “are you a waffles person, a pancakes person, or a bacon and eggs person?” he asked.

When Clint offered no response, Tony sighed, “cereal?” he asked, already knowing that he wouldn't get an answer.

Pouring himself a large mug of coffee, the genius' attention moved away from Clint, trying to inhale the scalding hot liquid

Taking advantage of Tony's loving stare directed at his mug, Clint's hand darted out and grabbed a banana that was in the bowl at the middle of the table. He peeled it quickly and shoved the fruit into his mouth, barely taking time to chew before he swallowed. Luckily, it was a banana, so he didn't choke.

When Tony looked up from his mug, Clint tried to hide the peel behind his back, forgetting that it was in two pieces and leaving one on the table. _Now I've really done it. He might have put up with my other shit, but this..._

Rather than smacking Clint or even shouting, Tony simply directed him towards the compost receptacle. Doing his best to contain his surprise, Clint stood to put both pieces of peel in the correct place. When he returned to the table, a piece of toast had appeared at his place. Next to it stood a jar of jelly, a stick of butter, and a container of peanut butter. _For me??? No... that can't be..._

“Go ahead,” Tony told him, setting a regular sized coffee mug next to the jelly, “you are allowed to choose whichever topping you like, and you can eat as much as you would like. The strawberries in the fridge and the other piece of toast are also available to you.”

_It is for me! He said so! And I'm allowed to get more. Man, this Tony guy is the nicest..._

* * *

As Clint marveled over his food, Tony left the room, having heard the sounds of Stray #4 coming in from his run. Before the inventor could get out a funny quip or gently mocking comment, Steve unburdened himself. “The man from the Veterans Association, Sam Wilson, wants to take me to breakfast and I don't have any money and no car and he said he'll come by to pick me up but I don't know, and what if it all goes horribly wrong?” he said in one breath.

“Chill,” Tony commanded, “it will be fine. I've vetted Wilson, he's a good guy. If he said he's going to come pick you up, then he will. If he doesn't pay, you have one of my credit cards, so you can take care of it.”

“Oh my gosh! Should I let him pay? Or should I pay for everything? Or is it better to split? I don't want him getting the wrong idea!”

Tony patted Steve's shoulder, “let him make that decision, he won't get the wrong idea. Now you better go shower before he arrives, you don't want to be smelly at breakfast.”

“Right,” Steve took a deep breath, “thanks.”

When the other man was gone, Tony returned to the kitchen to check on Clint. Both slices of toast were gone, as was the entirety of the strawberry supply, and the formerly full peanut butter was at about half-filled. Tony smiled, food had been an issue with Strays #2 and #3. _He's eating. He might throw up later, but at least he's eating..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of Tony's thoughts and a new arrival.

As expected, Clint was kneeling by the toilet 15 minutes later, emptying his stomach. Tony was fine with most bodily fluids. He could handle blood and guts and puss and spinal fluid and nearly everything else. But the one thing that would get the genius, pinching his nose and turnig way, was vomit.

Feeling like a horrible person, Tony returned to the kitchen to get Clint a glass of water, and to avoid the sight. Undoubtedly, Clint would empty the entire contents of his stomach, and probably be reluctant to eat anything else. Still, Tony rummaged around in the pantry until he found some plain crackers.

Crackers and water in hand, he headed for the bathroom. Clint had flushed the toilet and washed his face, and was sitting on the edge of the tub, biting his bottom lip. Clearly, the guy was nervous, so Tony did his best to approach slowly and loudly, making exaggerated movements.

“I'm sorry,” Clint muttered, staring at the floor.

“It's okay. Next time, eat more slowly and you won't get sick.”

Making no move to accept the water or crackers, Clint nodded. Eventually, Tony suggested that he rest for a bit, and led Clint back to his room. As the inventor placed the placed the items in his hands on the nighttable, Clint stood by the door, waiting.

“I have to go to work,” Tony told him, turning around, “it's not ideal, but I didn't know you were coming.”

_Tony Stark: heartless bastard. Confirmed. Shit. I have to go to this meeting... but I shouldn't leave him here alone... Steve will be back right? And Rhodey's coming. He'll be fine._

Having momentarily convinced himself that he didn't have any choice, Tony left, shutting the door softly behind him. _No, no, no. I_ _ **am**_ _horrible... shit..._

* * *

“I have to go to work,” Tony told him, turning around, “it's not ideal, but I didn't know you were coming.”

_I'm an inconvenience. That's bad... But he doesn't want to leave me alone. Why? He doesn't trust me... thinks I'm gonna steal all his fancy rich people stuff._

Clint attempted to slow his heartbeat as he walked over to the bed. He sat on it gently, running his fingers over the soft comforter. _Shouldn't touch... I'm too dirty to touch all of Tony's rich people things. But he said I could... I don't understand._

Eventually, Clint gave in, and leaned back against the pillows. It felt like heaven. He knew that his present situation was a delusion of some sort, but decided to enjoy the fantasy for a bit. Clint reached for the crackers.

In the next 2 hours, Clint began fashioning a basic bow from a branch of the tree outside the window and using a knife he'd liberated from the kitchen while Tony was speaking with the gigantic blonde man called Steve.

Suddenly, he heard a noise in the hallway.As it got closer, he realized it was JARVIS trying to speak with someone who kept cutting him off. The footsteps moved towards him. _Not Tony... his footsteps sound different. Not Steve... he makes far more noise all the time... Agent Coulson?_

Quickly, Clint hid his project and tools behind the pillows and grabbed a random book off the shelf to his left so as to look like he had been doing something. When the door opened, a tall man, obviously military, was revealed. “Who the hell are you?” the man yelled, “And what are you doing here?”

The next thing Clint knew, there was a loaded gun aimed at him. Putting down the book, he slid to the floor, kneeling with his hands behind his head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think. I'm not sure where I'm going with this fic.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey meets Clint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this took me a bit, I wasn't really sure what to write.

When Rhodey unlocked the door and entered Tony's home, all he could think about was flopping down on the bed he knew would be prepared and falling asleep. He ignored JARVIS as the AI tried to tell him something, cutting off whatever it was mid sentence. As the colonel entered the room which he suspected had been prepared, he suddenly wished that he'd listened to the AI.

There was a man that Rhodey didn't recognize, sitting on the bed, seemingly engrossed in _Cyber Security: A Detailed History_. The man was wearing Tony's clothing, and was covered in cuts and bruises, and several areas had been stitched. Without thinking, Rhodey pulled the gun from his bag, flipping off the safety and pointing it at the stranger. _Why is this guy in Tones' house? Theft? But then why was he reading? Maybe he's a spy. Yes that sounds right._

The man dropped the book, throwing himself to the floor and kneeling as one would when being arrested, legs slightly apart, fingers interlocked behind the head, ankles crossed. He was trembling violently, but doing his best to stay still.

Rhodey took pity on the guy, lowering his gun, though he did not put it away. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” he asked, more harshly than he'd intended.

“C-Clint Barton, Sir,” the man responded, “Um, Agent Coulson... he g-gave me to Dr. Stark, I mean T-Tony.”

“And why are you wearing Tony's clothing?” Rhodey asked, tucking his gun away.

He remembered Coulson contacting him about another stray being put in his friend's care. So far, Clint's story checked out. _Still, he isn't like the last 4... I don't trust him._..

“He gave them to me, Sir,” Clint replied, remaining in the same kneeling position despite the gun's absence, “I'm s-sorry, Sir. I'll take 'em off.”

Clint began to undress himself, most likely intending to give the clothing back. Rhodey stopped him. “You can stay dressed,” he told the other man, “and why don't you stand up, too?”

As Clint got to his feet, Rhodey dropped his bag to the floor. He knew he'd messed up, going into his friend's home and aiming a firearm at a stranger that he'd been warned about. To be fair, the colonel hadn't slept for more than 24 hours and unlike Tony Stark, he couldn't function on coffee and willpower alone.

Before Rhodey could say anything to offer Clint comfort or reassurance, the other was speaking, quickly and nervously. “I promise I didn't take nothin', honest. Wouldn't have touched it either, 'cept he told me to.”

“Okay. I believe you. I just didn't know that anyone else would be here, that's all. You aren't in trouble and I'm not going to hurt you. I shouldn't have reacted like I did.”

Clint nodded, staring at the floor. “I'll clean it up,” he muttered, “change the sheets and everything. Didn't mean to take your room.”

“You didn't take my room, it was given to you. I'm going to go talk to Tony and get myself something to eat, and then I'll go find another room. It's okay,” Rhodey soothed.

“Where is Tony, anyway? I thought he would be here with you,” the colonel added.

“Work,” Clint told him, “he's like a real genius or somethin' and runs a big company I think.”

Rhodey chuckled, “All true. I met him at MIT. We were roommates, though I was 18 and he was just barely 15. Genius beyond anything I've ever seen. Even then.”

* * *

Clint shuffled his feet nervously. _Now there are 2 smart people here. MIT is a school for really smart people, right? This is bad. Smart people are creative and creative means..._

He was torn from his panic as the colonel who had yet to introduce himself, walked out. Clint remembered the items stashed behind the pillows and quickly made to hide them in a more secure spot. It made him a bit suspicious that there were quite a few good hiding spots around the room, but he didn't have time to consider the implications. _Food and then linens. And towels? Food first. Then the other bedroom..._

Clint ventured out of the room, tiptoeing towards the kitchen. The nameless colonel, Clint had recognized the rank on his uniform, was on the phone in the living room, presumably talking to Tony. _He's reporting... Tony's gonna know how I messed up... Calm down, Barton. If there is punishment, you deserve it._

Resolutely, he proceeded to the kitchen, quickly making the meal that he knew best. Hopefully, the colonel would be satisfied mozzarella, tomato, and basil sandwich. He set the sandwich and a bottle of chilled beer from the refrigerator at the table and exited.

Before the phone call ended, Clint made his way to one of the other spare bedrooms. Towels were easy to find, as were sheets and blankets. It was a little more difficult to make the bed itself as he was still quite injured, but he managed, only pulling a few stitches in the process.

The sticky feeling of blood running down his side alerted Clint to the error, but he ignored it. The shirt was now bloody and probably ruined, but there was nothing to do about it; he wouldn't dream of taking another. Definitely _gonna get punished this time. Totally deserve it though... he's been so nice to me and I just fuck everything up..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More angst, a sandwich, and some blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make this one a little longer than I have been, but I'm not sure if I succeeded. I understand the frustration of reading short updates.

Tony hated Board meetings. With a burning passion. Still, somehow he always ended up going to them. As he sat at the conference table ignoring the room's other occupants while pretending to look attentive, he tried to think of a way to help Clint.

He had no idea where the man came from or what he had been through, only that something had gone very wrong along the way. That was the basic story with all of the strays Agent had brought him over the years, but Clint seemed different somehow.

 _Perhaps it's the obedience,_ Tony thought, _it's unnerving_. Stray #1 had explosive anger issues, and strays #2 and #3 were loud and confrontational in an effort to hide their pain and fear. Stray #4 was insecure at times, but he was still vocal about his needs and wants. Clint barely spoke, always did as he was asked, and his body language was fearful and submissive. Everything about him indicated a history of violent physical and psychological abuse.

_What am I going to do? I just wanted to spend some time with Rhodey while everyone else was busy. Rhodey! How's he gonna react to Clint? Shit!_

At that moment Tony's cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Looking around the table, he saw that everyone was ready to leave, so he managed to end the meeting in time to answer the call before it went to voicemail. “Sugarbun, I'm sorry. I mean to be there before you!”

Rhodey chuckled, “nah, man, it's fine. I wasn't supposed to arrive for another few hours.”

“So you met Clint?”

“I pulled a gun on him cause I thought he was an intruder.”

“Shit,” Tony cursed into the phone, thankful that the conference room was now empty.

“There's something up with that guy,” Rhodey began cautiously, “he seemed really scared.”

“Well, you did aim a firearm at him.”

“Look, I'm sorry...”

“Don't worry about it, Rhodey. You didn't do anything to him that hasn't already been done,” Tony's voice took on an uncharacteristically defeated tone.

“What's this guy's story, Tones?”

“I'll be back as soon as I can, buddy. Just need to make the rounds first. How 'bout I stop by that burger place on my way back. You want the usual?”

After that, their conversation ended quickly; the real catching-up would happen later.

* * *

 

Tony's first stop was his office. He was going to have to bring an enormous amount of paperwork home with him because he'd fired his latest PA a week earlier and had yet to hire a new one, so it was piling up.

Once everything important was digitized and downloaded on the laptop in his briefcase, Tony headed for the R&D Department. It was his favorite sector of the company, so he liked to start his end-of-day rounds there. The head of the department declared everything copacetic, as usual, but that didn't keep some of the lower level techs from asking their CEO for help.

2 wiring mistakes and 1 faulty water filter later, Tony was on his way to Human Resources. They never had much to tell him, but he never stopped coming by. Legal had more paperwork for him to review and a warning about a potential lawsuit that could prove significant, and Public Relations was a mess as always.

The PR Department struggled between the “we are supporting out troops by arming them” line, and the “we don't believe in war-profiteering” one. Lately, they had been suggesting the Stark Industries pull out of the weapons industry a little while expanding in other areas. It wasn't an idea that Tony was in any way opposed to, but the Board and the military representatives disagreed.

Housekeeping & Maintenance was a bit disorganized lately; key employees had either moved, retired, or had children, and thus they were short on staff. Still, it was always pleasant for Tony to visit there.

He made his way through the rest of the departments except Financial; he would deal with them in the morning. That department in particular annoyed him because he was always having to correct their figure and other little errors. Within 2 hours of ending the Board meeting, Tony was on his way to get burgers and then go home.

* * *

When Tony ended the call, Rhodey slid his phone into a pocket and went to look for the man he'd been threatening earlier. Entering the kitchen, he found a delicious-looking sandwich and one of his favorite beers at the table, however Clint wasn't there. Rhodey was tempted to just sit down and eat the meal, but he knew better than to eat something without asking if it belonged to someone else.

Just then, Clint entered the kitchen. The colonel noticed the blood running down the other man's side, but flinch under his gaze made him look away. _Geez, how banged up is this kid? He's not dying, I might as well not ask... Tony will take care of it._

“Is this your lunch?” Rhodey asked.

Clint shook his head, “I made that for you, Sir. If it's not good enough...”

“It's great, thanks.”

“May I return to the bedroom, Sir?”

“Of course, you don't need to ask permission.”

As Clint crossed the threshold, Rhodey realized that he had yet to introduce himself. “My name is James Rhodes, by the way. Most people call me Jim or Rhodes and Tones calls me Rhodey.”

Clint turned briefly, “Yes, sir,” he replied, exiting.

* * *

Clint returned to the bedroom that Tony had assigned him. He was thankful that Colonel Rhodes was satisfied with the meal. _At least I've done one thing right._

Biting his lip, he retrieved the bow he'd been making and continued to work. His mind drifted back to the way Rhodes had looked at the blood on the shirt. He hadn't appeared angry or disappointed, and he hadn't even asked about it. Honestly, Clint had expected to be yelled at and then given medical care, not that he needed it desperately or anything. _Tony would have offered to help, he would have taken care of me,_ Clint thought _, well, maybe... I don't really know him, do I?_

When he heard Rhodes leave the kitchen and head for the other guest room, Clint was tempted to ask the voice in the ceiling if the colonel was satisfied by the linens that had been chosen and arranged. He also wanted to know about his responsibilities.

_Should I wash the dishes? Am I supposed to make dinner? But maybe Tony doesn't want me touching his things... too late for that now, I guess. No use worrying about that now, if he punishes me later, I deserve it... Am I allowed to talk to the voice in the ceiling? Why won't someone just tell me the rules? No Barton, don't complain. You are lucky Tony even agreed to take you in..._

Eventually, Clint decided that he'd rather be safe than sorry, and he didn't address JARVIS.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony comes home and JARVIS attempts to understand the intricacies of human thought

Carving into the wood made for a decent distraction from the pain of the pulled stitches. The blood was still coming out of Clint's side, though it wasn't flowing anymore. The shirt was stuck to his skin, stiff in the places where the blood had dried and still wet around the wound. He was beginning to feel weak and tired, his movements growing sluggish, when the voice in the ceiling addressed him.

“Mr. Barton,” JARVIS began, “Sir had returned. Would you like me to inform him of your need for medical assistance?”

Clint nearly had a panic attack, but calmed himself before he could pass out. _Can I talk to the voice? He's asking me a question. Will he hurt me if I don't answer? Tony said he could hurt me..._

“No... please... I don't want to be any trouble.”

“I assure you, Sir would be most willing to fix the stitches and replace your shirt,” the British voice was actually rather soothing to Clint.

“That ain't right,” Clint protested. _Please, don't bother him. Don't wanna cause more problems..._

“I will comply with your wishes, Mr. Barton,” JARVIS said, “however, what exactly do you mean by the words 'that ain't right'? An act of medical assistance does not fall under any definition of 'wrong' of which I am aware.”

It took a moment for Clint to process the AI's meaning. He was really starting to feel the effects of the blood loss. _How come the Brits always got to talk so damn complicated? Why can't this voice just say things like a normal person would?_ Clint thought before quickly chastising himself, _dammit, Barton, don't talk back. Idiot!_

“Sir...um... Mr. Tony? 'e shouldn't 'ave to take care o' me. Givin' me food an' all.... don't deserve it...” Clint's speech was beginning to slur significantly.

“My understanding of the finer points of human thought is fairly limited. Why would one not deserve to be fed?” Given who created him, JARVIS' curiosity wasn't a surprise.

“I 'aven't earned it,” Clint replied, just as he heard a knock on the door. _Shit! Mr. Rhodes probably heard me. Now I'm really in for it..._

 

* * *

 

Tony entered the house, dropping his briefcase on the table by the door and shrugging out of his suit jacket with a sigh of relief. “Rhodey? Platypus? Did you get lost again?”

“That was one time,” Rhodey came down the hall, smiling, “and it was after I tried to outdrink you.”

The two men embraced. “Not a mistake you will ever make again,” Tony replied fondly.

In the kitchen, Tony produced the burgers he'd promised. Rhodey dug in immediately, but not before informing his friend of Clint's condition.

“He was bleeding last time he came in here. Wanted to see if I liked the lunch he made.”

“He made you lunch?” Tony asked, knowing full well why Rhodey hadn't taken care of Clint's injury.

“And set up the guest bedroom while I was on the phone with you,” Rhodey nodded.

“Sneaky,” Tony said approvingly, “he probably pulled some stitches while making the bed. I'll take care of it, and then you and I are going out.”

The genius exited, ignoring the colonel's protests about the evening outing. “Jay, how is our disturbingly helpful little guest?”

It took JARVIS a moment to respond. “Mr. Barton has asked me not to inform you of his need for medical attention.”

“Thou art blameless, my child. Twas your Uncle James that did spill the beans,” Tony made his way down the hallway.

“Your eloquence never ceases to amaze, Sir,” JARVIS replied, and Tony took a moment to appreciate his own achievement of having coded an AI capable of snark and sarcasm.

“Clint?” the inventor knocked on the door, “may I come in?”

“Mr. Barton is nodding, Sir,” JARVIS supplied when there was no audible response.

 

* * *

 

As the doorknob turned, Clint had the urge to sink to his knees, partly because of the blood loss and partly for other reasons. Instead, he stood in front of the bed, eyes glued to the floor. _Pathetic! Get a hold of yourself, Barton!_

“Clint,” Tony began slowly, “what happened to your side?”

“I p-pulled some of the stitches.”

“Okay. Let's go to the bathroom and I'll stitch you up.”

Clint followed the engineer to the bathroom they had used the night before. He cringed internally upon seeing the dirty reddish-brown stains in the tub, but Tony didn't seem to notice.

Peeling off the shirt was a painful process. Tony tried to work as gently and carefully as possible, but the shirt had been acting as a scab of sorts, so once it was gone, the wound began to bleed more.

The cleaning didn't take long, but the sutures, even though there were only two that needed replacing, took a lot longer. “Are you some kind of pain junkie?” Tony asked when Clint refused the topical anesthetic again.

Clint shook his head violently and then when still, so still in fact that he began trembling. His teeth bit harshly into his upper lip, and his fist clenched tightly by his side. _He's gonna be one of those people, Clint thought helplessly, he's gonna beat me and burn me and then tell me I like it! But he's been so nice... this doesn't make sense.._

A voice that lived somewhere in his head had no trouble responding. _That's cause you're stupid, Barton. You're dumb and useless, and nobody wants you. Be glad Tony even decided to keep you for this long..._

Tony's voice drew Clint out of his thoughts, though he was still hazy and tired. “I don't know what't happening in your head, man. I don't want you to feel pain, but you keep saying no to painkillers. What do you want me to do?” Board meetings really exhausted the small amount of patience that Tony actually possessed.

“I'm sorry,” Clint replied miserably, wincing as the needle punctured his skin for the final time.

“There we go,” Tony announced, “You're all stitched up. I'm going to get you another shirt, and then you're going to bed. Got it?

“Yessir,” he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

Somehow, 15 minutes later, Clint found himself tucked into his bed, with Tony sitting beside him. “Stay with me for just 1 more minute,” Tony was saying, “I gotta give you some information, and then you can sleep all you like.

Clint didn't know if he made any kind of response, but the genius kept talking. “My friend Rhodey and I are going out tonight. We won't be back until very late. If you need anything, Steve should be around somewhere, and you can always ask JARVIS. Help yourself to anything in the fridge or pantry or cupboard...”

Tony might have continued to speak, but whatever he said was lost on Clint. His last thought before he he fell asleep was of the past. _No one has tucked me into bed like this since..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think. I'm running out of ideas for this one, so I need your help to figure out where the plot is going.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the ideal manner in which to start the day

Tony and Rhodes came back at 2:30 AM. They were both quite drunk, the colonel more so than the inventor, and neither man was able to walk straight. In their attempts to open the door (JARVIS liked to mess with his creator sometimes by not opening doors among other things), the two made a lot of noise which woke Clint.

Creeping out of his room, Clint arrived in time to see Rhodey collapse face-first onto his bed as Tony laughed, trying to assist his friend and failing comically. _They're happy drunks. This is good. This means no hitting._

Tony spun in a circle, almost falling over as he tried to move down the hallway. Luckily, Clint caught him, slinging one of the genius' arms over his shoulder. Clint originally planned on getting Tony into bed, but when he asked for directions, the man just giggled, putting one finger to his lips. “Are you trying to get into my pants, Clint” he asked, his arm tightening around Clint's neck.

 _Is that where this is going? Okay..._ “No Sir,” the sober man responded.

Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, Tony leaned in to give Clint a surprisingly gentle kiss on the cheek. Clint dumped the inventor onto the first couch he could find, accidentally being pulled down when Tony wouldn't let go. “It'll be 'kay,” Tony mumbled as Clint detangled himself, “I'mma take care o' you.”

_What does that mean? More food? Or does he mean the other thing... Don't speculate, Barton, it's not your choice to make._

“Go to bed...” _Finally, an order. This I can work with._

Quickly, Clint made his exit, not knowing whether to feel relieved or rejected. He knew he should be glad that Tony wasn't forcing him, but at the same time, such an action would have clarified his position and purpose in the engineer's household. _A purpose would mean that he actually wants me..._

 

* * *

 

The next morning or rather 5 hours later, Clint woke up from a fitful sleep that had been plagued with nightmares. “Mr. Jarvis,” he said slowly, “who else is awake?”

“Mr. Barton, if you please, call me JARVIS. I was created in the memory of Mr. Edwin Jarvis, however I am by no means a replacement,” the A.I. spoke in what felt like a gentle tone.

“I understand,” Clint replied. _This is confusing. Doesn't matter, Barton. You don't need to understand, you just need to be good and not get kicked out._

“As for your query, Steve Rogers is out on his morning run and is not expected back for several hours due to a breakfast meeting. James Rhodes is still sleeping off his adventures from last night, and Sir is in the workshop.”

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Clint was quiet for a moment, “what should I do?” _Should I have made breakfast? Dammit, why do I always screw everything up!?!?_

“Sir had clothing delivered for you. It is outside the bedroom door if you would like to change. The kitchen and all food contained therein has been made available to you, however should you not find anything to eat, I can order delivery for you. Should you require additional assistance, Sir can be called up from his workshop.”

Clint didn't know what to do. He was expecting orders not choices. When he didn't respond or move at all, JARVIS broke the silence. “I have spoken with Sir. He will be up shortly to assist you.”

_No! He shouldn't be bothered! He's gonna be really mad at me now... And he'll probably have a hangover. He's gonna punish me... Shut up, Barton! You deserve it!_

A knock on the door effectively tore Clint out of the stream of worry that was quickly becoming a full blown panic. When he didn't answer, Tony entered, moving very slowly, like one would approach a wounded animal. “I heard that you needed some help,” he began.

It was all Clint could do to keep from falling to his knees to beg for mercy. “I'm sorry, Sir,” he began, the panic returning, “I didn't mean to bother you. I'm sorry.”

“Hey, it's okay,” Tony soothed, “you're not in trouble. Let's just get you into some new clothes, and then we can get you some food. How does that sound?”

Clint was hyperventilating by that point and missed all of what Tony had said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To clean or not to clean... that is the question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been almost a month since i've update, sorry about that. I am trying to be efficient, it's just not working.

“What is it you are trying to achieve, Sir?”

“I don't know!” Tony yelled at his AI, immediately regretting it, “I'm sorry Jay, I didn't mean to yell at you.”

“Understood, Sir. Perhaps Mr. Barton would benefit from a glass of water?” JARVIS replied, using his most forgiving tone.

Guiding a still-panicking Clint into the kitchen, Tony sat him down at the table and grabbed a glass, filling it with water and ice cubes. Placing the cup in front of Clint, the inventor waved his fingers cautiously in the other man's face. “You there, buddy?”

“... 'm sorry, Sir,” Clint mumbled eventually.

“Don't worry about it,” Tony replied easily, already digging through the fridge, “how would you feel about a deli sandwich?”

When the other man didn't respond, the genius set about making the aforementioned sandwich. He was bringing it over to the table by the time Clint spoke up again. “There's only one sandwich,” he commented sadly, hanging his head.

“I'm not hungry; this is for you,” Tony replied decisively, setting down the plate, “Eat. I'll go get you some new clothes.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Clint picked up the sandwich cautiously, and when he looked up, the genius was gone; “people-skills” wasn't exactly high on Tony's list of accomplishments.

 

 _Where did he go? Did I do something wrong? Again?_ Clint panicked. He had yet to figure out what Tony wanted from him, and he didn't know the rules. However, one constant that he could always rely on, was that if no one told him the rules explicitly, he would still be taught, one way or another.

Remembering the inventor's last order, Clint dutifully ate the sandwich and drank the water. When he was done, he brought the dishes to the sink, almost dropping them when the dishwasher opened of its own accord. A metal claw reached out, taking Clint's dishes and placing them in the appropriate locations within the machine. Then, the claw retracted and the dishwasher closed itself silently. _That was weird,_ Clint thought, _if Tony's robots do everything, what is my purpose?_

Deciding it would be best to retreat to familiar territory, Clint tiptoed back to the room in which he had slept. He debated addressing JARVIS again, but chose to stay silent, unsure of what to say. There was a pile of clothing on the bed with a note sitting on top. Clint dressed before reading the note, hoping that he wasn't breaking any of the unknown rules.

 

_Clint-_

_I had to go to work. Steve,_

_Jay, or Rhodey can help if_

_you need something. I'll be_

_back in a few hours._

_-Tony_

 

The note offered no information that Clint considered useful. _What am I supposed to do here?_ he asked himself, _maybe I should clean?_

The idea of cleaning sounded right to him; past experience indicated that tidying public and private spaces in his free time correlated with receiving better food and being struck less often. He decided to start with the stained bathtub. It was his blood, therefore it was his mess, right? When he'd made it clear that he would be cleaning, regardless of the robots' capabilities and the cleaning service, the one called DUM-E gave him several cleaning solutions and a few rags along with a screwdriver and a 1/2 gallon of milk. He was still scrubbing the stains fiercely with the supplies, excluding the screwdriver and milk, when Steve entered.

“Uhh, hi,” Steve began awkwardly, “we haven't been formally introduced. My name is Steve Rogers.”

Clint rose, taking the proffered hand so as not to appear rude, despite the anxiety building inside him. “I'm Clint,” he introduced himself quietly, “Barton.”

“Do you need help with the cleaning?”

“I can do it,” Clint murmured, “thank you.”

Steve turned to go, then paused. “You don't have to do that, you know” he gestured to the cleaning supplies, “Tony doesn't have any expectations.”

“Not that I think he'll be angry,” the blonde added quickly, “I'm sure he won't mind.”

Deciding that he'd already confused Clint too much, Steve resolved to keep his mouth shut and left.

 _Is Tony gonna be mad?_ Clint worried, _Dammit! I shouldn't have touched his things without asking... Don't be such an idiot Barton! You know what happens when you see things you weren't supposed to..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, I love hearing feedback


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint tries to keep busy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, sorry. For what it's worth, this chapter is a little longer than usual.

Cleaning the tub gave Clint a certain comfort, and soon he'd moved on to the next room, resolving to organize and clean as much as possible with the hope of pleasing Tony. After that bathroom, he went to each of the others, washing, scrubbing, rinsing, and drying every possible surface. The bedrooms were next, though Clint decided to skip Rhodey's because the man was still asleep. He did pause to put a glass of water and an Advil by the colonel's bedside; in his experience, hangovers made people angry and angry people were more violent.

He started with the room where he had slept, changing the sheets and replacing them with the set he found in the bottom of the dresser. The extra clothes from the pile that had been left under Tony's note, were carefully refolded and placed in the first dresser drawer. Arranging the comforter and pillows until he was satisfied that any trace of his presence was gone, Clint moved on to the next room.

The rooms that appeared untouched to begin with, were left alone, Clint only pausing to straighten blankets and fluff pillows. Aside from Rhodey's and his own, he found 5 additional bedrooms scattered across three levels, that bore signs of an occupant. _That's a lot of beds,_ Clint pondered, _where're all the people?_

 _Should I go in?_ he wondered, _don't wanna get in trouble..._

Clint eventually decided to skip the two rooms whose occupants seemed to be children. They were fairly neat anyhow. _Maybe they got sent away..._

Steve was found to be in his room sketching when Clint showed up, declaring that he was “fine.” _Best to leave 'im alone,_ Clint decided.

The fourth room gave him a feeling of calm, like waterfalls and open sky and being able to look down and see the whole world below. The bed was neatly made, but the desk and the night table were both quite cluttered. Papers with scribbled writing and math equations were scattered across the desk, and the books on the night table appeared to be on the verge of toppling off.

Clint made quick work of the desk, putting all the pens and pencils he could find in an available decorated dish, and shuffling the papers into a single neat pile. He considered trying to sort the papers by subject or date, but found himself too confused. _Dammit Barton,_ he berated himself, _don't go through other people's stuff! Idiot!_

Organizing the night table proved difficult for Clint, he couldn't understand most of the book titles, though righting the tissue box and adjusting the lampshade were easy enough tasks. _I wonder who stays here,_ Clint finished straightening the room, _it doesn't look like they've been around for a few days._

The final bedroom that Clint found was likely the master. It had floor to ceiling windows along one wall and an attached bathroom, and it gave him a pleasantly cool feeling. Seemingly less customized than the other's he'd seen, the master bedroom was large and open and designed in a similar way to the rest of the house. There wasn't a whole lot actually in the room, and therefore there wasn't much for him to do. In the end, he simply stripped and remade the bed.

 _The sheets were all twisted,_ Clint thought to himself as he went looking for a washing machine, _does Stark... Tony have nightmares? Never mind... it's none of my business._

After wandering around the house in search of a laundry area, Clint was on the verge of giving up when JARVIS addressed him. “Mr. Barton,” the AI said gently, “please leave the sheets where they are, Dum-E will come to collect them.”

Clint followed the instructions and moved on to other cleaning tasks. Eventually he found himself in the foyer/living-room area where he'd last seen Agent Coulson. _Something to do_ , he felt a sense of security when he saw the clutter on the coffee table, _maybe I'm not completely useless._

The table was covered in bits of metal and wires and gears and tools. There were a few contraptions that Clint did not recognize and was slightly afraid to touch, but when he moved them, they didn't shock, cut, or burn him. When he'd finished, the tools were laid out in a row on one side of the strange mat he'd found half falling off the table, the metal bits and wires were set in a line of neat clusters on the other side, and the three small contraptions were in the middle.

 _Much better,_ Clint decided, surveying the new organization, _maybe Tony will be pleased._

Suffice it to say, Tony was not pleased.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell happened here!” Tony came back from work to find that someone had messed with the tools and parts on the coffee table, “Rhodey, you know this isn't funny!”

Wasn't me, Tones,” the colonel defended himself, coming in from the kitchen, “you're back early.”

“I decided to come hang out. You know, my best friend just happens to be on leave.”

“Oh, really? And who might that be?” Rhodey slung an arm around Tony's shoulder.

The genius smiled in response before he let some of the frustration back into his expression. “Did Clint do this?” he asked, gesturing at the coffee table.

“I don't know. Maybe it was Dum-E.”

“Dum-E knows better.”

“I'm going out with some old MIT buddies. Do you want to come?” Rhodey changed the subject.

Tony sighed. “They're your friends, platpus, you were the only person at MIT who could even tolerate me; I shouldn't intrude.”

“That's not true and you know it,” Rhodey pulled his friend towards the door, “just because you didn't consider them friends doesn't mean they didn't consider you a friend. Please come.”

Tony relented; he'd never been good at denying the colonel's wishes, “fine. I'll come...”

Rhodey smiled enthusiastically, as they climbed into one of Tony's less ostentatious cars. His friend wasn't big on group gatherings, but he was going to make the best of the leave that he had.

As the were about to drive off, the genius addressed JARVIS. “Jay, tell Clint to keep his hands off my stuff.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

 

* * *

 

Clint had been waiting for Tony's return, and it came sooner than he'd expected. Hiding in the hall, he watched the genius enter the house and observed the interaction with the colonel. He even followed them out to the car, watching from behind the shrubbery as they drove away. The last thing Tony said was “tell Clint to keep his hands off my stuff.”

_Shit! I should have known. I'm so stupid! Worthless. Fucking. Idiot._

Clint slunk back into the house, trying not to contemplate how Tony would punish him. Whatever it ended up being, he deserved it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strawberries and panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is another chapter, albeit a shortish one.  
> Since my comp died, I lost what i'd written so I had to write this part from scratch which was hard because I couldn't remember what I was planning to do next, if that makes sense.  
> I appreciate your patience.
> 
> Also, please remember that Tony is not evil in this fic, he's just stressed and Clint's view is warped.

Clint cleaned the kitchen again and folded the sheets as they came out of the dryer, returning them to the rooms from which they came. He avoided touching anything in the entry-way and living-room, and made sure to steer clear of the steps that JARVIS told him led to 'the lab.'

 _Can I eat,_ he wondered, _is that allowed?_

Returning to the bedroom, Clint continued to ponder the consequences of sneaking into the kitchen to get some food. He remembered that the first day, Tony had told him he could go to town on the strawberries and have another piece of toast. Hoping that hadn't been a one time offer and deciding that it was worth the risk if it had, Clint returned to the kitchen.

Though the strawberry supply had been somewhat replenished, there were fewer strawberries in the fridge than there had been. Still, it felt indulgent to eat the entire bowl. _Don't be an idiot,_ he reminded himself, _eating the rest now is selfish and stupid. Eat some now, leave some for others or for later, don't earn any more punishment._

Still hungry, but less so than he'd been for weeks, Clint stood in the kitchen holding the leafy remainders of the strawberries and wondered what to do. _Toast_ , he remembered, _I'm allowed one piece of toast!_

Stashing the strawberry crowns on the counter, hidden behind a fruit bowl, Clint began his search for bread with which to make toast. He found several sliced loaves in the freezer, but he couldn't tell which one Tony had used the day before. Hoping for the best, he chose one a random and took a slice from the bag, twisting it shut and placing it exactly where he'd found it.

Then began Clint's search for the toaster. Eventually he gave up and just asked JARVIS. Even with the AI's direction, it took him a while to find the appliance. It didn't look anything like any toaster he'd ever seen, and didn't even seem to have a place to put the bread.

Rather than asking JARVIS again, Clint took the now-defrosted slice of bread and bit into it. _It's too risky,_ he reasoned, _asking lots of questions makes people angry. That probably also applies to wall-voices._

When he'd finished the bread, Clint returned to the strawberry crowns, gathering them in one hand. He contemplated looking for a garbage can or something, but decided against it.

 _Never waste anything,_ he reminded himself, swallowing the first crown.

Once he was finished, he washed his hands and returned to the bedroom. The clock projected onto the wall read 9:07 PM.

_Tony pro'ly won't come back 'til morning. I've gotta stay up 'case he want something._

Clint continued to work on the wooden bow he was carving. It was finally starting to take shape and actually look like the object it was intended to be. Carving away peacefully, he nearly nicked himself when he heard and felt a heavy thud.

 

* * *

 

Quickly but carefully, Clint stowed his materials away, venturing out of the bedroom, careful to remain silent. Since Steve was the only other person in residence of whom he was aware, he made his way down the all in the direction of the blonde's room.

Steve's door was wide open but the light was off. Given the location of the attached bathroom, Clint could hear the shower running, but he was still too far away to hear the little changes in sound that would indicate a person moving.

 _Fuckin' ears_ , he cursed mentally, _never hear things quite right._

Having failed every public school hearing test, Clint knew that he couldn't hear as well as everybody else, but he wasn't quite sure what normal would be like. For the most part, he'd found work-arounds, compensating for what he couldn't hear by learning to read lips and body language and interpret vibrations, but that didn't always keep him out of trouble.

“Steve?” Clint called, not receiving a response, “Steve?”

Moving closer, Clint continued to call Steve's name as he entered the bathroom. The sound died on his lips when he looked down to see the huge blonde curled into a ball in the shower, still fully clothed. “Steve?” he whispered.

JARVIS' voice startled Clint so much that he missed the first part of what the AI said. From what he did hear, he gathered that Tony was on his way back. Still, that didn't tell Clint what to do in the meantime.

For what seemed like hours but was probably just a few minutes, Clint stood still, panic building. Tony entering the room pulled him from the spiral of fear in his head momentarily, but soon he fell right back.

Clint could tell that Tony was talking to him, but he couldn't understand the words. The inventor was getting worked up and he knew that was never a good sign, so when he finally managed to decipher Tony shouting “get out!” he fled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me happy!
> 
> Also, I'm working on re-writing the parts of the other fics that were lost when my comp died, but there's like 5 of them, so it might take a while and I might start another one while I'm waiting to see if I can extract anything from the comp hardrive
> 
> Thanks!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finally talks to Clint and JARVIS provides some background on the other strays.

Clint sat on the bed, his knees pulled tightly against his chest, rocking back and forth. _I really fucked up this time_ , he thought, _this is worse than anything I've done since I got here._

For a moment, anger penetrated his torrent of self-loathing. He wished Tony would just tell him what he was supposed to do so that he could stop making mistakes. Living without rules was just too damn hard. He didn't realize he was crying until JARVIS got his attention to point out the tissue box on the nightstand.

“Is Tony mad?” he asked the AI, sniffling, “is he gonna get rid of me?”

“Sir was frustrated, but he isn't upset with you, and he definitely won't be throwing you out. Of all the individuals that he has taken in over the years, your behavior is by far not the worst.”

“Really?”

“Dr. Banner, the first 'stray' that Sir took in, broke several pieces of furniture during his first week with us,” JARVIS assured the still-shaking man, “additionally, he has punched holes in the wall since then.”

“Oh,” Clint was surprised and more than a little confused, “why didn't he get kicked out?”

“Sir has said, and I will quote, 'that is not his style.'”

“What about the kids?” Clint asked tentatively, “I saw their bedrooms. They're not here anymore.”

“The twins are simply at a boarding school of a sort,” JARVIS replied, “Sir speaks with them regularly and they will be returning for a visit in a few weeks.”

“Okay, but if.... the first guy... if he didn't get kicked out, where is he?”

“You are quite observant, Mr. Barton. Dr. Banner is indeed away helping with disaster relief, but he is welcome back whenever he chooses to come. I predict that he will be back within the next month.”

“Is Steve okay?” Clint decided to change the subject.

“Indeed,” JARVIS told him, “he is sleeping peacefully. In order to protect his privacy, I will not elaborate on the situation.”

Clint nodded, leaning over so he could sweep his used tissues into the bin. _If Steve's okay now, why hasn't Tony come here yet,_ he wondered before reminding himself of his place, _shut up, Barton, you don't deserve attention and you definitely don't deserve an explanation._

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. “Sir is requesting entry,” JARVIS informed him.

 

* * *

 

With Steve settled in bed, and the bathroom mostly cleaned up, Tony knew that it was time to go speak with Clint. Still, he dawdled, taking the longest possible route to the other man's room. He had no idea what to say, because he suspected that “I'm not angry. I'm sorry I yelled. Have you eaten anything today?” wouldn't cut it. No matter how he looked at the situation, it was going to be a very long night; and that was if Steve didn't wake up shivering from the nightmares that preceded and often followed his panic attacks.

Arriving at the door, Tony knocked, receiving no response. “Is he in there?” the inventor asked his AI.

“Mr. Barton is nodding, Sir.”

 _Great,_ Tony thought, pushing the door open, _he's gone non-verbal._

Clint was on the bed when the inventor walked through the doorway, but he soon fell to the floor, still clutching the tissue box. Tony couldn't exactly understand what he was saying, but it sounded like a litany of apologies.

“Hey buddy,” the genius sat down beside Clint, speaking gently, “I'm not angry. I'm sorry I yelled. Have you eaten anything since this morning?”

Clint nodded. “I some strawberries and some bread.”

“I see. Is that all you ate?”

“And the sandwich you made. But that's it. I promise. I wasn't greedy or nothin.'”

Tony chuckled sadly. “I'm not worried about that. Did you at least put something else on the bread? Peanut butter? Cheese? Anything.”

“No... and I couldn't understand the toaster. I'm sorry...”

Though Tony had no idea what Clint was apologizing for, he recognized it as a defense mechanism. He'd learned it at boarding school as a kid, where it was always better to apologize to the teacher for something that wasn't your fault than to deny your involvement. Tony had quickly settled on the strategy of a) not getting caught for the things he did do, and b) having an airtight alibi for the things the other boys did. It usually worked, but not always.

“I'm not upset with you, Clint. Let's go get you something to eat, protein especially.”

Allowing Tony to help him up, Clint silently followed the inventor into the kitchen. He sat down at the table when he was asked to do so, but was slightly more hesitant when food was placed in front of him.

Tony started small, giving the other man a plate with no more than a handful of nuts. He knew from personal experience that after eating sparingly for an extended period of time, large portions were difficult to stomach.

As Clint nibbled slowly, Tony went to the pantry, grabbing the first grain he could find which just so happened to be white rice. Cooking it took a while, but the inventor multitasked, convincing his charge to drink some of milk and eat some celery while the water was boiling.

Once they were both sitting at the table, Clint with a bowl of white rice in front of him and Tony nursing a beer, the inventor decided that it was time to begin. “We need to talk, Clint,” he said.

 _Dammit, shouldn't have said it like that,_ Tony cursed himself, _that sounds ominous and threatening._

He sighed. “I don't think we're understanding each other very well.”

“'m sorry,” Clint looked up from his bowl.

“Bud, I'm not upset with you, I'm just frustrated with the situation. You didn't do anything wrong. Capiche?”

Clint nodded, though Tony suspected that didn't actually understand. He tried not to sigh again; feeling like a disappointment was something with which he was intimately familiar. “I need you to do something for me, okay? When you are hungry, come into the kitchen and eat what you want. If it's not labeled as belonging to someone else, then you can have it. Alright? Do you think you can do that?”

“Uh huh.”

“I mean it, if that isn't something you're capable of, we can work something else out.”

“I can feed myself, sir.”

Tony winced at the use of 'sir' but he let it go. He didn't want Clint to think of him as superior, but if it helped the other man to feel safe or comfortable, he would deal with it for a while. Putting on a smile, the genius continued. “That's a great start. Now comes the part where I apologize.”

“What?” Clint looked genuinely shocked.

“Look, I'm sorry that I haven't been around a lot since Agent brought you here. With Rhodey visiting and the Company, it just isn't an ideal time. I mean, usually I can balance fine, but I fired my PA a couple weeks ago and the paperwork is just piling up and... And you probably don't care.... My point is, I'm not trying to ignore you, I just... I don't know why Agent keeps dropping off strays, it's like he thinks I'm good at care-taking or something... Where'd he get that idea?”

Clint didn't reply, his nose basically in the bowl. “Are you still hungry?” Tony asked, realizing that he'd been rambling a bit, “I can get you something else.”

The man shook his head. “There's a design,” he pointed inside the bowl, “and writing.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, I can't read it, but I looked it up once. It says something like: he satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things. It's a psalm, I think. Someone gave me this set of bowls when I was at a tech conference in Tel Aviv... or Haifa... I don't remember. They've each got a different design but the same words.”

“That's nice.”

“I guess... so are you still hungry?”

“No sir, may I go to bed now?

“Sure, we can finish this conversation later,” Tony couldn't hold in the sigh this time, “is there anything you need?”

Clint had been in the process of getting up, but he immediately dropped back into the chair when the genius finished speaking. He breathed heavily for a moment before speaking up. “Rules?” he asked quietly.

“You want rules?” Tony clarified, he had known to lay down ground rules when the twins had first come to him, but they were kids and Clint was at least 20, “okay...”

The inventor was silent for a long moment before he spoke again. “Let's start with some basics, alright? Eat when you're hungry, sleep when you're tired, keep your room relatively clean, and when you have a problem or something goes wrong, tell me. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah... I think so.”

“You can be anywhere you want to in the house except for other people's bedrooms. Ask permission before you go into those. My workshop is also off limits,” Tony thought for a moment before continuing, “go outside if you'd like, but if you're going further than a mile or so, please tell me. I know that sounds kind of controlling, but since you are under my care and I haven't had the time to wipe your record yet, I need to keep you out of trouble.”

Clint had started trembling though there was no obvious reason for it. “I... I b-broke...” he didn't manage to finish the sentence.

“It's late, do you want to go to bed now?” Tony figured that giving the younger man an out was the best solution.

Nodding, Clint got up and ran from the room. The inventor sighed again, following him out, but heading for the workshop instead of a bedroom. _Did I screw that up_ , he wondered, _he did ask for rules, right?_

“JARVIS,” Tony addressed the AI once he descended the stairs and entered the workshop, “did I do something wrong?”

“Please clarify the question, Sir. Or at least provide a time frame.”

“Just now, with Clint... that didn't feel right... telling him what he is and is not allowed to do...”

“If you recall, Mr. Barton did ask for rules, Sir,” JARVIS replied patiently, “you are doing the best you can given the situation.”

“Then why do I feel dirty?”

“Well, you haven't taken a shower recently, Sir. Considering where you've been, a change of clothes and a wash might do you some good.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Tony began pulling up holographic displays of the schematics for his latest project, “you know that isn't what I meant.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, or actually early the next morning, Tony was heading to bed when he heard soft clinking of ceramic and glass coming from the kitchen. Without making his presence known, the inventor watched as Clint sat on the floor, surrounded by piles of Tony's dishes and cutlery.

It seemed he was paying particular attention to certain sets which others were set aside or hadn't been taken out. Directly in front of the young man sat a side-handled tea pot (yokode no kyusu) that Tony had bought in Osaka many years earlier.

To Clint's left was a set of decorated metal chopsticks from Busan and a wood and bone bottle opener from Nairobi, both of which had been gifts from people the inventor couldn't remember. To the right stood several oversized thimble shot glasses and a painted plate that read “A falta de pan, buenas son tortas.” The embellished Italian cheese knives had been placed on top a stack of plain blue glass plates, and the various woven baskets that Tony had bought from several different roadside vendors in Peru were scattered between the other dishes.

Chuckling silently, Tony headed towards his own bedroom. He hoped that Clint didn't break anything and that he put everything away, but the situation had amused the inventor enough that he would undoubtedly be forgiving in either case.

Before he even made it to his room, Tony heard someone banging on the front door, loud enough to be heard throughout the house. “Who is it?” he asked, not moving to answer the knock.

“It appears that Colonel Rhodes has had a bit too much to drink,” JARVIS probably would have been smirking had he the ability to do so.

“Best to keep him away from the kitchen,” Tony resigned himself to getting no sleep at all and went to let Rhodey in because JARVIS didn't seem keen on doing it, “platypus, I'm the one who's supposed to be getting blind drunk, not you. We've established this.”

“My turn,” the colonel giggled, “I won.”

“What did you win?” the inventor asked, guiding his friend away from the kitchen and towards the guest room in which the colonel was staying.

“...could never win 'gainst you....” Rhodey sighed happily, “you left early so I won....”

Tony dumped the older man onto the bed. “I'm so proud. Now go to sleep.”

“Oops,” he rolled off the bed, at least 50% on purpose.

“Yeah, I'm not picking you up. 'Night.”

Returning to the kitchen, the genius found all his dishes cleaned up and not a trace of Clint's presence. Shrugging, he tried, for the third time, to go to bed. At last, it worked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the bible verse mentioned comes from Psalms 107:9)
> 
> What do y'all think about how Tony's handling the situation?


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgina Potts gets a job.  
> Clint Barton hates himself.  
> Tony Stark doesn't sleep enough.  
> Not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's been more than 3 months without an update. I'm really sorry about that.
> 
> A bit of warning for this chapter: Clint thinks some pretty negative things about himself and a bit of his past is revealed.

 

Clint had been living with Tony Stark for just over a week and for the most part, everything was fine. After overcoming his initial hesitance, he ate whatever he wanted from the kitchen, finished carving his bow and started on the arrows, and would often spend time wandering around outside. He knew he should be happy, Tony hadn't hit him even once, never threw things at him, and hadn't tried to fuck him either. _Not that you would mind Barton, you little slut._

It wasn't that Clint was a sex addict, at least he didn't think he was, it had more to do with the lack of human interaction he had on a daily basis. Colonel Rhodes ended his visit early to return to work and Steve was rarely around; the house's other residents still hadn't returned. Each day Tony would spend more time at work or locked away in his workshop and when he did appear he didn't interact with anyone other than the AI in the walls.

The differences between his life here and his life before were numerous and distinct, one of them being the number of people around him. Before, in the span of 24 hours, Clint would have probably been fucked by at least two different people and he'd have sucked off several others, not to mention those who sold him food or drugs and the ones who beat him up. At Tony's house, he would be lucky to see two different people in a day. The inventor spent so much time at work and working that even when Clint did see him, Tony was often too tired to notice the stray he'd taken in.

 _He forgot about me_ , Clint tried not to feel disappointed, _I don't matter anymore...not that I ever did._

When those thoughts came, another part of his mind would remind him that Tony was being generous to let him stay for so long and he should be grateful. _Stupid, selfish, worthless_ , it liked to taunt him, _you're nothing more than a inconvenience._

When he really thought about it, Clint couldn't deny that he was a burden on Tony and he knew should be doing everything he could to make the man's life easier. The voice in his head might be mean, but it typically told the truth, at least when he wasn't high. He _was_ an inconvenience, he _was_ stupid, he _was_ worthless. Though Clint acknowledged the truth, part of him wanted to beg the inventor for attention, for affection. He hated himself for it.

 

* * *

 

One night, Clint was busying himself with cleaning the kitchen, not that it really needed cleaning, when Tony came back from work with a beautiful strawberry-blonde. He didn't hear the beginning of the conversation which had likely began in the car, but the first thing he did make out was the inventor telling the woman to take a break and her replying with, “Dr. Stark, it's fine really.”

“Ms. Potts, it's 9PM. It's your first day. Work is over, go home. Rest.”

“Not until I see you in bed, asleep,” the woman insisted.

Clint didn't hear what Tony said, but it was probably dirty given the woman's reaction. Apprehensively, he followed them down the hall to the master bedroom. The woman, Ms. Potts, was helping Tony out of his jacket and taking his phone away. “No more working, Dr. Stark, you haven't slept in 48 hours.”

“But the prototype,” Tony protested weakly.

“It can wait. Now go to bed!”

The inventor collapsed on the bed which was apparently good enough for Ms. Potts because she walked away, failed to find a light switch, and left the house. After watching her drive away, Clint went back to the master bedroom to find Tony struggling with the buttons of his shirt.

Tentatively, the younger moved across the room, kneeling between the other man's legs and taking over the task of undoing the buttons. _Finally, something I have experience with,_ he thought to himself, _well... sort of._

“Let's get this off you,” he murmured as he pulled the shirt from Tony's shoulders, “isn't that better?”

“Mmn,” the inventor was nearly asleep.

“Alright, I'm just gonna take this,” Clint slid the other man's belt out of the loops, placing it on the bed, “you gotta stand up now, Sir.”

Tony didn't seem inclined to cooperate so the younger man ended up pulling the pants out from under him and down his legs. From that vantage point, Clint couldn't help noticing the thin white scars lining Tony's upper thighs and disappearing beneath his boxer-briefs. Shaking his head as if to rid his mind of the image, the younger lifted the inventor's legs onto the bed, pushing the other man back onto the pillows and covering him with a sheet.

Softly asking JARVIS to dim the lights, Clint went about the business of organizing the bedroom. He started with the dirty clothes, depositing them where the AI told him to and hanging up the belt as well. Setting Tony's briefcase on a side table, Clint put the man's cellphone, at least that's what he thought it was, beside it. “Could you turn off any alarms?” he asked JARVIS.

“Done,” the AI replied.

“Goodnight, Sir,” Clint whispered to Tony's sleeping form, exiting.

In his own room, the young man stared at the bed for a long time. Undressing Tony and putting the man to bed had left him in a strange mood and it seemed wrong to sleep in a bed without being pressed tightly to another person. Eventually Clint pulled a pillow and one of the spare blankets off the bed and settled on the floor. It didn't feel quite right, but it was better than an empty bed.

 

* * *

 

Clint liked Ms. Potts. He'd never spoken to her, in fact he was pretty sure she didn't know of his existence, but he was immensely thankful for the strawbery-blonde's presence in Tony's life. Ever since she'd first come to the house, her first day as Personal Assistant to the CEO of Stark Industries, Tony had been less overworked and spent more time at home.

In her few days, Clint noticed a sharp increase in the amount of time that the inventor spent eating, sleeping, and engaging in physical activity outside of his laboratory. He actually didn't know that Tony did anything remotely physical in his lab, he'd never been inside, but from what JARVIS said, the man did enough strenuous work to pull muscles and the like. Regardless of what happened in the genius' lab, within Ms. Potts first few days of work, Clint began to see Tony boxing with his driver/bodyguard, Happy, and going for morning jogs.

The inventor spending less time at work meant that he spent more time with Clint. Though he had to plan carefully, Tony didn't seem to have any routine, the younger man was able to have breakfast with the genius a few times and once they even had dinner together. Breakfast seemed to consist of food for Clint and coffee for Tony, but it was better than nothing. Steve was there at dinner too, and while Clint didn't say anything, it was nice to be around other people.

Clint decided that his favorite thing about Ms. Potts was that her presence made Tony smile genuinely more often. Though he hadn't realized it until the woman showed up, the inventor had two smiles, his real one and the one he used on reporters and businessmen. Until Ms. Potts, Clint hadn't seen the real smile more than twice, Colonel Rhodes' visit being an exception.

He liked watching the two banter on the occasions that the PA came to the house; it was really cute. Often their conversations would end with a deceptively formal exchange:

“Will that be all Dr. Stark?”

“That will be all, Ms. Potts.”

Clint thought it was absolutely adorable, even though the inventor usually called his PA by an also adorable nickname, Pepper. He had no idea where it came from, the woman's name was Virginia, but the nickname had a certain charm to it. Though happy-ever-afters were only fiction, Clint hoped that they would have one.

There was, however, one thing about Pepper's existence that bothered Clint. He couldn't understand why Tony hadn't asked him to do many of the things that the PA did regularly. Sure, Clint didn't have a degree in business and was in no way suited for a boardroom or fancy fundraisers, but he was perfectly capable of making or purchasing coffee, providing snacks when the genius got caught up in his own head and forgot to eat, and helping in the workshop.

That was what hurt Clint most. Tony allowed Pepper into the workshop, she was a “level 4” who quickly became a “level 3,” while Clint was still not trusted that much and remained at “level 5.” _At least now I know I should be aiming for a 4 not a 6_ , he thought miserably, _but what am I doing wrong?_

In reality, he knew the answer, but he would only admit it to himself when he was feeling particularly down. _She's a well-educated, respectable, high-class lady and I'm just a stupid, dirty, whore... well, former-whore,_ he supposed, _he'll never trust me and I don't deserve it._

On good days, Clint was able to keep those thoughts at bay and simply enjoy the effects of Pepper's indirect presence in his life. Since she'd started working, Tony had sometimes started bringing his projects out of the workshop. Sometimes he would sit in silence and tinker, likely unaware of Clint being in the room, but other times he would explain the purpose and functioning of the prototypes.

Clint was never really sure if Tony was talking to him or to JARVIS or even to himself, and he never asked any questions or said anything at all, but he liked it all the same. The explanations were far beyond what he could understand, and most of the inventor's creations seemed impossible, and as such it was a joy to watch the man work.

 

* * *

 

One afternoon Tony returned from work far earlier than he usually would and in a horrible mood. Clint watched from the hall as the inventor threw himself at the living room couch and angrily pulled up some holographic projections. Though the younger man wasn't sure what the projections detailed, they seemed to be blueprints of a sort and they seemed to be making Tony furious. “Why am I doing this JARVIS?” the inventor sighed.

“You are doing this because if the Department of Defense isn't given an initial blueprint of the Perses Missile System by tomorrow, Stark Industries will likely lose a two billion dollar contract.”

“Right, that thing,” Tony muttered.

Clint had to stifle a gasp. Looking at the holographic blueprints again, he could see that they might be for a missile, but they seemed ridiculously complicated. _I suppose that’s why Tony has a mansion and I have nothing,_ he thought to himself, _idiots like me can't understand that shit._

“It's just wrong, Jay,” Tony ran a hand through his already-mussed hair, “fucking terrorists shouldn't be getting ahold of my weapons!”

“In an ideal world, Sir...” the AI began.

“This isn't an ideal fucking world, now is it?”

“I suppose not, Sir.”

“I'm sorry, Jay, I shouldn't have yelled at you.”

Surprised that Tony was apologizing to a computer, essentially, Clint missed whatever JARVIS said in response. When he went back to paying attention to the conversation, the two were still discussing the military contract.

“I'm going to force them to renegotiate,” the inventor decided, “they won't get any of my missiles until they prove that they aren't going to lose them accidentally or give them away.”

It sounded like a solid plan to Clint, but apparently JARVIS had other ideas. “That might be possible for future contracts Sir, however this one has already been signed by both parties and is far past renegotiation.”

“I've got it!” Tony jumped to his feet, “send the blueprints to Pep and let her know I won't be showing up to present them.”

“Is that wise, Sir?”

“Maybe not, but it will make one hell of a point. Daddy's got a plan.”

“Sir, are you sure the military representatives will be able to understand the point?” JARVIS asked, though Tony was cackling too enthusiastically to respond.

“We've got our work cut out for us tonight Jay,” Tony headed for the stairs to his workshop, “by tomorrow morning, I want to know the name and serial number of every missile they've lost in the last year and who's fault it was.”

“I do wish you'd get some sleep Sir.”

“Goodnight, Clint,” the inventor called as he passed the hallway where the younger man was hiding.

Clint nearly screamed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is curious, Perses was a Titan in Greek mythology who represented destruction and peace.
> 
> So, what did you think?  
> Did I take Clint's headspace too far?


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony and Clint finally have a much needed conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's shorter than I intended, but it's an update.

Tony emerged from the workshop eighteen hours later, satisfied with his research but still quite angry at the DoD for misplacing the weapons he'd sold them. Pepper had given up trying to call him after the seventeenth time she was sent to voicemail, and was too busy handling his mess at the company to come force him into bed.

The inventor was stumbling around the house looking for coffee or perhaps more alcohol when Clint intercepted him. He caught Tony off guard and barely remained standing when the older fell into him. “Hey there you are,” the genius patted Clint's shoulder, “have you eaten yet?”

The response was unintelligible to Tony, but he found himself being led towards his bedroom instead of the kitchen. “But coffee's that way,” he pouted, not putting up much of a fight.

“Sleep first, coffee second.”

“Coffee first, sleep never!” the inventor countered cheerfully.

“Sleep now, coffee later,” Clint pushed the older man onto the bed, “it's important to rest.”

Tony didn't reply, but it seemed like he had given in because he began removing his clothes. Well, he tried to do so, but the shirt got stuck on it's way over his face, and his arms decided they were too tired to continue struggling with it. Just as the inventor was about to give up and just sleep with the shirt on his head, someone else was pulling it off. “Clint! I forgot you were here.”

“That's because you're drunk,” was the gentle reply as fingers skimmed beneath Tony's pants and began to remove them, “let's get these off and then you can sleep.”

“But I've got work to do,” the genius argued weakly.

Clint saying “later” was the last thing Tony could remember before he passed out.

 

* * *

 

Once Tony was safely in bed and the clothes were in the laundry basket, Clint rushed from the room. Next thing he knew, he was curled around the toilet, ridding himself of everything he'd eaten for the last several hours. _You fucking slut,_ he berated himself, _there was no need to touch him that much!_

Clint knew he had done wrong in helping Tony remove his clothes. Not that the act itself was wrong, but he'd allowed his fingers to linger, wander even, across the inventor's skin. He'd allowed himself to reveal in the warmth of another person without asking for it. He was screwed up beyond help.

“Mr. Barton, if you cannot explain to me what is going on, I will be forced to dial 9-1-1,” JARVIS's voice broke through Clint's thoughts, “I am currently unable to wake Sir, and there is no one else in the house.”

“No it's fine,” Clint managed to say, “don't call 9-1-1.”

“What happened, Mr. Barton?”

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to. I know I did wrong!”

“I am afraid I don't understand,” the AI's voice remained as gentle and calm always.

“I shouldn't have touched so much,” Clint knelt on the bathroom floor, sobbing, “I know I'm a worthless whore... I didn't mean to... it was an accident.”

“Mr. Barton, please take a deep breath. When you are calmer, you can explain the situation to me and I will do my best to help.”

After several minutes of deep breathing, JARVIS was able to talk Clint through cleaning up the bathroom and walking to his own bedroom. “Can you explain the problem, Mr. Barton?” the AI asked.

“I did wrong,” Clint mumbled, his lip trembling, “I k-know that. I p-promise I'll t-take the p-punishment without complaining. I won't f-fight back...”

“As far as I can tell, you haven't done anything wrong recently, Mr. Barton. There is no need for punishment.”

“B-but I touched!” Clint argued, beginning to cry again, “so much... I was b-bad... but he was so warm and human...”

JARVIS had to talk Clint out of another panic attack at that point, and the AI was seriously considering trying to wake up Tony. “If I tell you what to do, Mr. Barton, can you do it?” he asked calmly.

“Yes, I promise. I'll be good!”

“Get into bed and go to sleep. In the morning you can talk to Sir about what happened.”

Clint nodded, though he wasn't sure if the AI could 'see' him. Climbing into the bed, he tried to focus on what JARVIS had said. _Tony will punish me in the morning,_ he repeated in his head over and over, _until then there is nothing I can do about it. Until then, I do as I'm told and sleep._

Clint did not get very much sleep that night.

 

* * *

 

“Jay, what time is it?” Tony rubbed his eyes, sitting up in bed.

“Good morning, Sir. It is 9:14 AM Pacific Standard Time,” the AI replied, “currently the temperature is 75˚F-”

“Yeah okay,” the inventor interrupted, “how did I get undressed?”

“That would be Mr. Barton's doing. When you finally exited the workshop you were quite sleep deprived and somewhat drunk. He helped remove your clothes before making sure you were in bed, asleep.”

“I see,” Tony stretched, standing slowly, “did he see anything he shouldn't have? Did I try to do anything bad?”

“Not exactly, Sir,” JARVIS replied carefully, “however something happened during the process that distressed him greatly. I was unable to figure out what.”

“What happened?” the inventor began to dress himself.

“Mr. Barton vomited everything that he had eaten and spent almost 45 minutes crying on the bathroom floor,” the AI explained, “he was unable to coherently tell me the problem, so I sent him to bed with the expectation that you would speak to him about it.”

“Why didn't you wake me?!”

“I'm afraid I was unable to do so, Sir. When you work more than 24 hours without rest, you tend to sleep quite deeply.”

“Is he okay now?” Tony rushed to finish buttoning his shirt.

“Relatively,” JARVIS replied cryptically, “I would recommend that you take your time with this conversation, Sir. I have taken the liberty of contacting Ms. Potts and informing her that you will be several hours late to work if you show up at all today.”

“You shouldn't have done that, Jay, I've got a lot of work to get done,” the inventor protested as he headed down the hall towards Clint's bedroom.

“Sir, this conversation with Mr. Barton is crucial. You cannot keep putting it off, or rather I will not allow you do so.”

“We're gonna have a talk about this later, Jarv,” Tony warned, arriving at Clint's door, “don't think I'm gonna just let you get away with this.”

“Of course Sir,” JARVIS replied pleasantly, “I have informed Mr. Barton of your presence and he has acquiesced to your entering the room.”

The inventor heaved a sigh before entering the room. He sighed again when he was greeted by the sight of Clint kneeling next to a perfectly made bed.

 

* * *

 

Clint knew he had to be on his best behavior after what had happened the night before. He felt some degree of relief that Tony would finally punish him like he deserved. _Ungrateful slut,_ he reminded himself immediately, _you take what you're given._

Taking a deep breath, he straightened his spine, resting his hands on his thighs. As he waited, Clint couldn't help thinking about his situation. He was glad that he would finally be punished, but he knew that he shouldn't want punishment, which left him very confused. _Maybe Mr. Carson was right,_ he mused, _maybe you are a masochist. It doesn't matter though, you deserve this so you're gonna shut up and take it._

Clint was pulled from his thoughts by JARVIS informing him that Tony was just outside the room and requesting entry. Quickly, he readjusted his position, nodding to let the AI know he was ready. When the inventor walked in, he very nearly panicked. _Fuck! He's mad. You're really in for it this time, Barton._

“We need to talk about what happened last night,” Tony began, “I'm afraid that I can't remember anything.”

Briefly, Clint considered lying to get himself out of trouble, but since JARVIS knew the truth, being dishonest would probably make the situation worse. “I-I touched,” he admitted quietly, “it w-was wrong. I know that, 'promise. But I'll t-take whatever p-punishment you th-think is best, Sir. I won't f-fight back...”

“Calm down, I'm not gonna punish you,” the inventor reassured him, “what and who did you touch and why was it wrong?”

Clint stared at his hands where they rested on his knees. “Y-you...” he managed before he began to cry.

As Tony went to grab the tissue box and bring it over, JARVIS decided to offer some helpful information. “Sir, after analyzing the interaction and consulting several psychological databases, I have concluded that while helping you to undress, Mr. Barton touched you in an inappropriate manner, one with rather sexual connotations.”

“I see,” the inventor murmured, looking to Clint for confirmation.

Nodding miserably, Clint accepted the tissues he was offered, doing his best to control himself and stop crying. _You are the one who fucked up, Barton_ , he reminded himself, _you don't deserve comfort or sympathy. You should be apologizing._

“I'm s-sorry, Sir,” he mumbled, “I k-know I d-did wrong.”

“Look Clint, if you know it was wrong and you won't do it again, then it's okay and can be written off as an accident. But you can't be doing that kind of think to anyone without their permission, understood?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Alright. Now I think it's time we had a talk,” Tony settled himself on the floor a few feet away from Clint, “we need to discuss your past to some degree and the present to a greater degree. The future can wait for another day.”

“W-what should I tell you?” Clint asked fearfully, already intimidated by the topic of conversation.

“Since it seems to be a fairly pressing issue, let's start with the sex stuff.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure what to think about this chapter. It's kinda messed up.  
> Also, the convo at the end is probably not going to be continued in writing, more like implied that it was finished and other things were discussed.
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of Clint's past is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's short but it's an update

Tony sent U to get tea for them, Pepper insisted it was calming, and grabbed some throw pillows from around the room. Once he'd made himself comfortable, and at least offered a few pillows to Clint, he decided it was time to start the conversation. “Agent has this habit of bringing people over and leaving them here without any explanation,” the inventor began, “I already knew a little about Brucie-bear before he showed up, but only his academic papers; Big Green was something of a surprise.”

Clint nodded, though he probably had no idea what Tony was talking about. “The twins... Agent did give me some information about them, but... let's just say there's a reason they spend a good portion of the year with Professor Xavier. Anyway, my point is that I don't know anything about your history or why Agent thought you needed something other than the usual rehabilitation. Since, as I said earlier, the sex stuff seems to be the most pressing issue, can you start by telling me about that?”

“I'm not a virgin,” Clint said defensively, “I know what I'm doing.”

“Alright. Maybe it would be easier to do this the way medical professionals do. In the month before Agent found you, how many sexual partners did you have?”

Clint bit his lip, seemingly thinking hard about the question. “I'm not sure. How're you defining sex?”

Tony took a deep breath. “Anything penetrative.”

“Does oral count?”

“Sure.”

“Maybe like twenty or so. A lot of them were regulars.”

“I see. And approximately what percentage of these encounters were consensual?”

Clint's brown furrowed and he didn't respond. Luckily, U chose that moment to enter with a wobbly tray of tea selections. Tony took the mugs with a smile, offering the bot a pat on the 'arm' and an enthusiastic, “good job, buddy.”

“Do you know what consent is?” the inventor asked casually, passing a mug to the man across from him.

“Um... when you agree to sex?”

“Okay, that's good. It is a bit more complicated than that sometimes, though.”

Clint didn't reply, choosing to take a tentative sip of the tea instead. “Agreeing to sex under pressure or threat doesn't really count,” Tony continued, “it also doesn't count if you're too drunk or high to think clearly and make informed decisions. Individuals with certain mental disabilities are not considered capable of consent and neither are kids.”

“Okay...”

“So I want you to think over your recent sexual encounters and reconsider whether or not they were consensual.”

There was several minutes of silence before Clint spoke up. “I don't know,” he refused to meet Tony's eyes, keeping his gaze directed at his lap, “I just did what Mr. Cross said...”

“So you had someone telling you who to sleep with? A pimp?”

“Yeah.”

“How about before that? Not just the last few months, but think over the last few years,” the inventor asked carefully, already not liking the answer.

“Um... I was with the Carson Carnival of Traveling Wonders,” Clint answered hesitantly.

“Wow,” Tony had learned about the Carson Carnival from reading through SHIELD's watchlist a few years earlier, “what did you do there?”

“Just random stuff, packing and unpacking, feeding the animals... Sometimes I did did acrobatics or trick-shooting if one of the performers was sick...”

“Are you any good? At the performance stuff?”

“I don't know... it's been a while.”

“Okay,” the inventor moved the conversation along, noticing how nervous Clint was becoming, “when did you leave the Carnival?”

“Buck took me outta there,” Clint continued to stare at his knees, “I thought he was gonna keep me but he sold me like a year later...”

“Sold...” Tony kept his face impassive despite the nausea curling in his stomach, “is that how you started in prostitution?”

Clint nodded, biting his lip and fidgeting. “And you understand that I don't own you?” the inventor couldn't figure out a good way to word the question, “you are allowed to leave if you want.”

“Um... okay.”

“Do you know how to use a gun?” Tony decided to move on instead of shocking Clint with the revaluation that owning other human beings was both immoral and illegal.

“Yessir.”

“Bow and arrow?”

“Yessir.”

“Explosives?”

“No sir. Sorry sir.”

“No need to be sorry,” Tony drained his mug in one gulp, “how are you with tumbling and acrobatics these days?”

“I don't know,” Clint looked almost hopeful, “but I was pretty good before. But I'm a good shot, Buck always said so.”

“Clint, I'm not going to ask you to go around shooting people,” the inventor did not miss the disappointment that flashed across Clint's expression, “but I think we can probably work something out.”

“Yessir.”

“I don't mean sex,” Tony assured the man across from him, “you don't have to do that kind of stuff anymore. It's not an expectation and you are allowed to say no.”

“Um... then what's my... what am I...”

“Take a deep breath and try again.”

“What are you gonna do with me? Why are you being so nice to me?” Clint asked, the words coming out so quickly they were almost unintelligible, “I don't mean to be ungrateful. I really appreciate everything, I promise. I mean-”

“Calm down,” Tony instructed, “drink some of the tea and breath deeply. I'll answer your questions once you've done that.”

Clint nodded, following the inventor's instructions obediently. “I'm not going to do anything with you that you don't want,” Tony continued when the other looked up, “I can think of some occupations that might employ your skills appropriately, but if you don't want to go get a somewhat legitimate job, that's fine.”

“Oh. Okay...”

“As for why I'm being so nice, it's called human decency, and frankly I've been kind of neglecting you recently. Still, contrary to popular belief, I'm not a total asshole.”

“You've been very good to me!” Clint insisted.

“Yeah whatever. So occupation and skills aside, I think you could benefit from seeing a therapist. How would you feel about that?”

“Like a social worker? I'm too old for that.”

“No. A therapist is like a doctor who would talk to you and help you with what's going on in your head.”

“If you think it's a good idea,” Clint shrugged, “I don't know about all that stuff.”

“That's okay. We'll figure it out. For now, I'm gonna call Agent and see about getting you some job training.”

 

* * *

 

Tony took time off work to have multiple conversations with Clint about his past and the next few days were somewhat awkward, but eventually, they managed to move past it. Agent Coulson came by several times to speak with Clint and the inventor, the three men working together to make a general plan for the future.

The first component was dealing with Clint's lack of formal education. Next came the need for structure and elements of control in his life. Then there was the emotional and behavior issues that needed to be worked out. Agent Coulson took most of the responsibility, arranging for a tutor and introducing Clint to a psychiatrist named Dr. Garner. Pepper also helped where she could, and within a week, they had a schedule set up and everyone was tentatively hopeful.

Of course it didn't all go smoothly at first, but with a lot of patience, Tony wasn't particularly helpful there, they worked through the problems and developed some sense of normalcy and routine. Clint himself was wary of the change, but not entirely against it, and he spent a fair amount of time wondering what he'd done to get so lucky. He didn't like the new environment and people or having to deal without Tony or JARVIS for guidance, but he knew that his situation could have been far worse.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frankly, the end of this chapter sucks, but I'm losing steam on this fic. Luckily the last chapter is mostly written.


	18. Chapter 18

Clint was finally getting more comfortable with his new routine. He would spend most of the day training at the SHIELD facility and at night he would return to Tony's house. Occasionally he would be sent on missions, but they were few and far between as the organization was just beginning to trust him.

Tony was around fairly often and when he was, the two had dinner together, occasionally being joined by Pepper or one of the inventor's other strays. When the genius and his assistant went on business trips, Clint would spent more time at SHIELD, sometimes sleeping in the temporary apartments they had for agents who needed them, but more often spending the night at the range. It wasn't a perfect solution and it wasn't exactly a healthy habit, but it worked well enough.

One day, Clint was returning from SHIELD having spent several days there, excited at the prospect of seeing Tony who was set to return from a quick business trip to Tokyo and then Afghanistan. There were rumors that the agent would be sent after the legendary Black Widow soon, but Agent Coulson refused to confirm or deny anything until Clint got a good night's sleep. As he had a difficult time sleeping through the night anywhere other than Tony's mansion, Clint figured it was time to go home.

Pepper was at the company, she had been there for more than 24 hours and the agent was getting a little worried, but he figured that she would go to pick the inventor up from the airport and bring him home, so he didn't ask JARVIS about the situation. Though it didn't often happen in day-to-day life, Clint could be a very patient man when he needed to be; it was one thing that made him such a good sniper.

He wished that he hadn't been quite so patient when a TV headline projected on a screen in a store window caught his eye.

 

[BREAKING] Tech Mogul Tony Stark Missing And Presumed Dead

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin


End file.
